Deep Feelings
by Ashy Faced Owl
Summary: Mairon seeks meaning in his life on Arda. An elaboration on the seduction of Mairon by Melkor.
1. Chapter One

Deep Feelings

Disjointed.

Dislocated.

Everything was...bland.

Mairon remembered pushing at the bodies of the Valar, trying to move them aside to glimpse Illuvatar's plan. To mold a window in the crowd to catch one look of this amazing world they could go. It was magnificent. Moving, pulsing, ever changing. Somehow it seemed bright and dark at the same time. He wanted in this place. To be a part of it. To change it and move with it.

Stagnent.

Dim.

He recalled arriving to a dark, barren, hard place. His first thought was that somehow there had been a mistake. Where was this beautiful world they had been promised? The movement and power that coursed through the vision they had seen was a lie maybe? They others seemed only slightly disheartened and began to toil at the slow construction of the future they had all glimpsed.

Unfulfilled.

Need.

Now Mairon walked slowly, through the dim, to the forge. It was a pale imitation of the light and power that he had seen. Though he had found nothing closer thus far. Aule was full of energy, and a need to create. Mairon also felt these things. Soon after they had taken form, he began his study under the smith. But he started to notice a difference between them. Aule would create something and feel no attachment, no "deep feeling" for it.

Mairon had thought many hours on these "deep feelings". They were like a need, and a fondness. An emptiness that was somehow full of something. Need was as close as he had gotten to describing these "deep feelings". When he had confronted Aule about them, the smith had no idea what he meant. Deflated, Mairon had not broached the subject again.

As he tore himself from thought, Mairon chanced a look into the eyes of another as he passed them on the path to the forge. His heart ached as his worries were, once again, confirmed. The "deep feelings" were not reflected in their eyes. He checked every pair of eyes. None held the "need" that he felt.

Blurry.

Alone.

Finally, Mairon drug his feet into the boundaries of the forge. His clothes and face were bathed in the warm light. Closing his eyes, Mairon let himself be embraced by the heat of the fire. He had found the forge to hold a similar "need". If the fires were not fed, they would cool and eventually fail, going dark and still. The only proof that they had lived at all were the ashes they left behind. They Needed to burn, or die.

He would now fill the emptiness with power. He stoked the fires, building them hot and high. Creating made his feelings race though the empty spaces inside him. Molding, changing, creating. He lived for this. Each item he forged to be forever his, to be held tight against his sticky heart.

Clinging.

Clawing.

Time continued forward, unrelenting. Aule was constantly working on the Two Lamps, a project Mairon was not allowed to be a part of. Rejected, lonely, and unfulfilled, Mairon toiled away at nothing important. He had wanted to be a part of this world, to change it and move with it. But as time trudged on, Importance seemed to not be a role Mairon was meant for. The "deep feelings" had started to change, souring and staling. They had bittered and become an unpleasant weight in his chest. Now each step was harder. He worked harder to achieve less. Was this all their fates? Was this all he was meant for?

Mairon was ripped from his thoughts by the sounds of urgent, hushed voices outside the forge. Apparently some other Maia had heard from their masters of a growing power, dark and threatening. Mairon had heard these rumors too. Aule had spoken of them several times, to others of course, about their lost brother and his twisted path. Mairon himself didn't know much about Melkor. Only that he was very strong and he had disappeared twice from the sight of his brothers only to return darker and more twisted each time.

"Now he threatens all we have built!" one of them says softly.

Mairon stifles a snort. "All we have built"? The bitterness of his "deep feelings" burns the back of his throat and leaves a bad taste in his mouth. He would gladly step aside and let Melkor destroy this stagnant place so they might start again.

Surprised at himself, Mairon blinks at the violence of his thoughts and ceases his eavesdropping. He should work of this negativity and try to be more like Aule.

Whispers.

Dust.

There it was again.

A feeling that he was not the only being in the forge. This was the fifth time in as many visits. Everytime before this one he had turned quickly, trying to located the source of this unnerving feeling. To his dismay, the feeling disappeared each time as quickly as he turned.

Mairon decide to not let it be known that he sensed his watcher. He merely braided his hair as was his habit before dawning his gloves and apron. To his sly delight, the feeling did not dissipate. His watcher had stayed, most likely convinced that Mairon had not noticed them.

Anticipation.

Movement.

Hours had passed and the feeling of being watched had not. Mairon tried his best to seem normal, going on about his usual tasks. He cleaned his anvil and his various hammers. He stoked the fires, resting the hottest coals on the left. He filled a barrel with cool water to temper his metals. Making sure to take a painstaking amount of time going through his previous works, Mairon wanted his stalker to view his masterful skill. Eventually, he commenced work on his newest creation.

Hearing about all of the danger that was coming, Mairon had decided to construct clothes made of metal to defend against attacks. The project had been very rewarding thus far. Each new challenge was a joy to solve and overcome. Soon, Mairon had lost himself in his work. Figuring out how to make metal clothes that moved with their wearer was exceedingly difficult. Each rivet was new, each hammer stroke led to something that had never been made. All of these things were his and his alone. He revelled in this ownership, a habit Aule tried and fail to break him of.

"Do not turn around."

A deep voice whispered from the darkness behind Mairon.

He froze. Hammer halfway through a down stroke. Wide eyed, Mairon kept still. The voice sounded new and unused. He remembered his voice was that way the first few times he spoke with the lips of his newly acquired form. But Mairon's voice did not carry the weight of this one. Deep as a pool of water going so far into the ground it had gone black. Vast like the view from the summit of a mountain, and dark as the shadow the mountain casts. The new voice spoke again.

"Do you know of the lamps?"

The voice inquired. It was as if warm red wine was being poured over his skin. Silk words weaving through his hair to caress his ears.

"Yes, my Lord."

Unintentionally addressing the voice as he would his master. Slowly, Mairon lowered his hammer and straightened. He ached to turn and see who the voice belonged to. Who could hold so much power with just their voice? It felt like a predator was at his back. Though he knew the man stood several paces from him, Mairon felt as if the Master of this voice was close enough to touch the bare skin on the back of his neck. He stifles a shudder, silently cursing himself for wearing a side braid this hour.

"You will tell me everything I wish."

A smile was woven into the words this time, like chocolate covering a black cherry. Mairon could not help but agree inwardly, barely catching the reply of submission behind his lips.

"Will I?"

Mairon forced a weak response. More asking permission than showing resistance.

Time seemed to slow as Mairon felt only a small movement in the air, barely enough to move the loose strands of his hair. That was all to announce the keeper of the voice was now at Mairon's ear. Cool lips brushed the shell of his ear, speaking softly with the power of a thousand forges and the depth of the sky passed the stars.

"For me, you will do anything."

Knees almost giving way, Mairon breathlessly nodded. How was this possible? Mairon held on to the side of the anvil to steady himself. He had to know what this force was. Who could hold the power of all that he had merely glimpsed in the vision that Illuvatar had shown them so long ago, in his voice alone.

"Please..."

Mairon pleaded with only breath.

"Tell me who you are."

A soft chuckle rolled sensually off the lips next to his ear .

"Do you not know?"

Mairon bit his lip and squeezed his eyes shut. The sensations were overwhelming. He could feel the power coming off this man in waves, pounding against him, sparking like lightning. It could be no one else, but Mairon could not admit this to himself. He would not be undone so quickly by this being whom so many had called the enemy.

"Melkor."

He whispered so softly that he himself could not hear. He felt the Valar straighten and noted how much taller and grander he must be. Gathering every bit of strength he had, Mairon turned quickly to put a form to the voice which already haunted him.

Notes: Special thanks to my Editor MandoOowada. Lemme know what you think. I haven't written in a long time.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Mairon stared at the ceiling of his empty room, the events of a fortnight ago still dancing around his thoughts. He found that they would interrupt any other thing he was doing. The memories were hardest to ignore in the forge, where they were created.

When Mairon had turned around that day, it came as no surprise, only disappointment, that Melkor had disappeared. He had spent hours after that, waiting for "The Enemy" to return. To his dismay, the only visitor he had was Aule. Melkor had been distressing the Valar from the very beginning. Telling Aule of his visit could make him very useful in their eyes. Maybe this is what he had been waiting for, a chance to be important. Mairon stood to address his master, but the words caught in his throat. They were being held captive by his ever troubling "deep feelings". He tried again to tell Aule of Melkor's visit and interest in the Lamps, and again the words would not come. Aule looked at him quizzically.

"What is it, Mairon? You look like you need to say something."

His master came to collect some supplies, Mairon noticed. Recalling that Melkor wanted to know about the Lamps, Mairon found himself asking questions about Aule's work, instead of telling Aule what he knew. Innocent questions, nothing that could be of any real use, Mairon told himself. He was trying assure his own knowing mind that he was not asking about the Lamps for Melkor. But…if he were to know more about the Lamps…Melkor might come back. And then, Mairon assured himself, he would tell Aule and the other Valar. No need to trouble them with information that might not even reoccur...

Mairon thought of nothing else.

Learning about the Lamps became Mairon's unhealthy obsession. He couldn't stop himself. He learned the materials Aule was using, the methods and energies being woven into the magics. All the while promising himself that these questions he was asking, these secrets he was keeping, were purely innocent. Only to settle his own curiosities and for his own personal uses. The lies were beginning to wear thin as Mairon found his bright eyes darting around to check if Aule was in his forge. Mairon had crept though the wooded area behind Aule's personal forge and was now guiltily peeking in the window. He spied parts of Aule's work strewn about messily. Pushing down the disapproving thoughts on his Master's cleanliness, he looked for something more useful.

What was he doing!?

Mairon blinked in realization of his own actions. Sneaking around and spying. Aule hadn't even forbidden him from entering the Valar's private forge. And yet he knew what he was doing was wrong and therefore was trying not to get caught. Mairon straightened up and headed home without stopping.

And now he lay there, disgruntled with his actions and thoughts, staring at his ceiling. He tried valiantly to forget the sounds of that day. The voice that had dug it's way into Mairon's depths. Melkor's voice. The memory alone held such power over Mairon. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to drown out the memory.

 _"For me, you will do anything."_

The echo of the voice in his mind sent shudders over his body. Mairon desperately needed to control his thoughts. The voice dripped over his body from out of his mind, soothing him, burning him. Like hot wax being slowly poured on his skin. Mairon was burning up, the voice heating him from the inside. He removed his clothes, pulling impatiently at the silken fabrics. He tried to steady his shaking hands by drawing up his legs and pinning them between his thighs.

 _"Do you not know?"_

The voice crept though Mairon's thoughts and wrapped him in invisible restraints. The whispers would not let him escape the memory this time. There would be no distraction. Nothing between himself and the will of the powerful voice.

Mairon gripped the bed sheets with his toes and clenched his fists still held in place by his thighs. The movement made the edge of one hand brush his cock, which he only now noticed was already half erect. Mairon had experimented before with touching himself, with mixed feelings for the act. He found it stimulating but terribly embarrassing as well. But now, realizing his growing need, it seemed to Mairon to be the only wise course of action.

Cursing himself for being so weak, Mairon gingerly opened his legs, only letting his knees fall slightly apart. He buried his face into his pillow and closed the small space separating his shaking hand from his member. He shuddered at the feeling, embarrassment quickly following the touch.

 _"For me, you will do anything."_

Mairon gasped quietly. The voice ignited the flames within him and made him jump slightly. He swallowed heavily and hesitantly recalled the Melkor's voice purposefully for the first time and lightly ran his fingers along his shaft. The sensation was overwhelming. The pleasure from his hand and the torture from Melkor's voice was almost too much to handle. Mairon was about to stop, this was wrong. But the "deep feelings" shot through him, the need sending jolts all the way to his clenched toes.

No. He would not deny himself this time. He would not restrain himself. He would not be the good little Maiar he was normally forced to be. He would be what Melkor's voice wanted him to be. He would be wild and furious and passionate. He called Melkor's voice clearly from his mind and let it melt into every crevice of his body. Mairon grabbed himself fully now, no longer embarrassed, but empowered. He stroked himself fast and hard, Melkor's voice a dark, sensual melody playing over and over in his head. Slamming it's power into Mairon with every stroke. Mairon let go and lost himself completely to the darkness and fire, and white lighting coursed through his body as the memory of Melkor's voice brought him to climax.

Mairon stared at the ceiling of his empty room. Panting and sweaty, but more free than he had ever felt. His mind held no regrets, only the echoes of Melkor's voice slowly ebbing away like a tide going back out to sea. He let himself fall to a satisfied sleep.

:::Thank you so much for the reviews and support. Proof read by my Mao. If anyone has any kinks they head cannon for Mairon, let me know! This chapter is my submission for Merry Month of Masturbation, so Happy MMoM! Make sure to check back, it isn't finished yet! :D:::


End file.
